


Memoriae

by pogopop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Christmas, First birthday, Gen, Sad, Sirius Black in Azkaban, Sirius remembers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pogopop/pseuds/pogopop
Summary: Sirius tries to remember being human.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & James Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Let's Create Secret Santa 2019





	Memoriae

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mortenavida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortenavida/gifts).



> Merry Christmas mortenavida! I initially intended to write something fun, so I'm sorry this came out so sad. And that it's so short!
> 
> This is my first work in the Harry Potter fandom. Of course I gravitated to the character who is most like my problematic fave.

Sirius can’t remember what it is to be human. Fear, terror, hopelessness, yes. He knows there’s more, he just can’t recall it. It’s dark and cold and so very terrible, and all around him are the quiet sounds of suffering. It’s so cold, the sea forming ever-growing sheets of ice as it batters the walls of the fortress. There’s a tiny window, and as he gazes blankly out at the iron-grey patch of sky, he sees a few flakes of snow begin to fall.

He raises a blackened hand and looks at it, at the nails, long and ragged, then scratches idly through the bedraggled thatch at an itch at the base of his skull. He can’t stay that long in human form - it’s too painful. But maybe he can remember. It’s like sinking into a pensieve.

A tiny house, blanketed in thick snow, cocooning the family inside, sheltering them from the ever-falling flakes. Approaching, not seeing the house but knowing where it is and how to part the protections around it, a swish of a friendly wand is all it takes. There is swirling blackness, then closer a pale, flickering glow appears, blossoming into gold, becoming strong and steady. Peeping through the window, what does he see? A man and a woman, so young and beautiful, sitting close and and laughing. James makes a joke, grinning with that cocksure manner of his and Lily smacks him on the knee, then laughs and leans in for a kiss. So much life between and around them. 

Holly lies along the mantlepiece, dark, shining leaves with bright red berries. There are three stockings - two large and one small - and not much else in the way of decoration, but Sirius knows that it’s Christmas.

There’s a small noise, and Lily turns her head. The firelight sparks her hair with ripples of gold, auburn and cinnabar. She starts moving to stand but James shakes his head and murmurs, and she sinks back into the cushions, smiling at him. James rises, sweeping his hair back from his forehead, tall and strong. He leaves for a moment, and when he comes back he’s cradling a bundle over his shoulder. He passes it to Lily, and there he is - Harry. A tiny swaddled person, his thatch of dark hair standing alert in protest as he cries for his mother. Lily soothes him, loosens his swaddle and pulls him close, his tiny face red and scrunched as he searches for the breast. 

Sirius thought babies fed to sleep, but maybe not. Eventually, the baby pulls away and looks directly at his father, smiling then laughing. An arm comes free, and he waves it wildly. James plucks up his son and swoops him high. There’s a raised eyebrow and a warning from Lily, and James scoffs until Harry belches up a bubble of milk, which spills down his front. Lily raises a hand, palm up - an ‘I-told-you-so,’ and passes him a cloth, and James shrugs. 

Harry squirms, so James lays him down on the soft rug at their feet. Harry squeals and kicks, toes pointed, hands fisted, and his parents look at him with adoration. Sirius feels his chest squeeze with forgotten emotion.

Someone howls, begging for mercy and he’s pulled back to the present. Black rock, his own clothing black and tattered, his very skin blackened. Like his name, like his heart. But…  
He takes a deep breath and pictures a page covered in a neat and delicate hand telling him about a first birthday. The grass baked into withered submission, heat lying thick across the Hollow The toy broomstick Sirius had picked out with care, wrapped with unpracticed fingers. 

He’d felt guilt at missing his godson’s first birthday, but it couldn’t be helped. There was still joy his young parents would have felt, although Sirius couldn't remember joy. The boy was growing so fast by one, already wobbling on sturdy legs from one parent to the other. They’d sent him a picture, probably taken by Bathilda, of the three of them underneath an oak. Harry was perched on his father’s lap, Lily’s wide eyes looking out from under James’ unruly hair. He reached out for his mother’s arm and she looked down, picked up the tiny hand and laughed. So perfect, happy and together. No hint of the threat and vigilance that allowed their lives to continue. They had only had another three months. So young, a whole life ahead of them.

Sirius doesn’t think often of Harry. As a dog, he doesn’t much care for humans, and so much of his existence is about survival. But when he does let his thoughts roam, it hurts. A stabbing combination of guilt, betrayal, grief. At least he knows the boy is safe and loved, still. Dumbledore will have ensured that.

He’s never seen the muggle family, never known any muggles at all - his mother never would have permitted it. His mother was angry enough that they let mudbloods be educated alongisde purebloods. But he imagines that their traditions are similar. Maybe they have a tree filling the house with piney sweetness, gifts piled underneath and waiting for Harry and his cousin. Sirius thinks its a boy, and that is a good thing. Another boy for Harry to grow and and play with. Of course, Harry will go to Hogwarts and the cousin to a muggle school. 

Sirius has lost track of time, doesn’t know if this is the ninth or tenth Christmas since everything went wrong. Sometimes he thinks the interminable cold may have only lasted weeks. Maybe Harry is at Hogwarts now, maybe riding the Express home to see his foster family, looking forward to settling in with a cup of mead. They will have kept Lily and James alive, told the boy how brave and talented his parents were. Sirius should have been the one to do that. But he can’t, because of that damned Wormtail.

Maybe Harry is a qualified wizard.

It doesn’t matter. There’s only one person Sirius needs to deal with, and he can’t do that from this rock. Being a human here is too painful, too hopeless. Too cold. Time to grow a thick coat, curl into a ball and wrap his tail in tight, raise a barrier against the Dementors, and wait for the opportune moment. It will present itself.


End file.
